You Never Know Who Might Be Looking

A few nights ago and for the first time, I checked the tabs that appear just above the space where I post my blogs and I found a comment to one of the earliest blogs that I had not seen before. In February I wrote about the 1944 publication of Yours Is the Earth by Margaret Vail with whom I carried on a correspondence for several years, till she suffered a stroke. The comment from someone named Deanna said she had read the book a long time ago too and had always wondered if Vail got her husband back from a German prison camp. My blog gave her the answer and she was grateful. How wonderful that a simple blog filled that need. That comment was worth all the time and energy I’ve put into my whole blog posting.

I also noticed I’ve had readers in Canada, Netherlands, Italy, Libya, Australia, Mexico, Belgium, Slovakia, and Germany, as well as the United States. And my blog Phenomenon has had many more readers than any other blog of mine. That pleases me.

Next weekend is our annual conference of the Idaho Writer’s [sic] League, with the notification of winners in numerous writing contests. The competition is keen, with so many members in the organization, but I hope I place in something, to say the least.

A note to the writers reading this. A scrap of paper stays on my desk, a clipping from an unknown source, to remind me of exactly what writing entails. In essence, it says writers are conducting one phase of writing by just thinking about writing. Noticing, wondering, and recalling events of the day and how one might use them in writing, is writing. By thinking this way, these habits become a natural phase in the actual writing process. Perhaps I’ve already mentioned this in a blog, but it reminds me of something I read in Savage Beauty, biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, by Nancy Milford. Vincent often sat looking as if doing nothing but actually thinking about the next sonnet, which she worked out completely in her mind before picking up her pen. Her husband informed guests to the house not to disturb her if they found her like this, for she was writing. I love it and approve this “technique” with cheers. I’ve found it so with parts of writing fiction. I doubt anyone could accomplish this feat for an average-length book of fiction. Certainly not if the characters write the story themselves. Except perhaps Ray Bradbury.

And that reminds me. You may recall my blog about the importance of your earliest childhood memory. Well, Ray Bradbury gets the trophy for this one. He said in some source he remembers being born! He remembers the big light above him and the pain. Now I wonder what affect that light and the pain had on the rest of his life. Does he enjoy a great deal of light around him? Or does he prefer a darker environment? Has he had any pain since that time? Perhaps a lot of it? With his IQ, his resolving any problem in this regard would be my guess.

I see you. You don’t believe one can have such a memory, do you? I do. Think about it this way. First, stop comparing him with yourself. Then remember plenty of people recall memories as early as three years of age. Georgia O’Keefe was two years old with her first memory. Now, if anyone at two, someone else will be at twenty-two months, someone at fifteen months, and someone at fourteen months, ten months, and right on down to zero days. Bradbury is just the one who remembered earliest. If this upsets your thinking, do the research. Find out for yourself. Maybe you can prove him wrong.

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